WILD TURKEY HUNTING. 23 
Once he was caught ina “pen,” and got out by an 
overlooked hole in its top. 
Three feathers of last year’s “fan,” decayed under 
the weight of a spring-trap. 
All this experience has made him a “deep” bird; 
_ and he will sit and plume himself, when common hunters 
are tooting away, but never so wisely as to deceive him 
twice. They all reveal themselves by overstepping the 
modesty of nature, and woo him too much; his loves 
are far more coy, far less intrusive. 
Poor bird! he does not know that W 
ing his snare for him, and is even then so sure of his 

is spread- 
victim, as to be revolving in his mind whether his goodly 
carcass should be a present to a newly-married friend, 
or be served up in savory fumes, from his own bachelor 
but hospitable board. 
The last céuck heard by the gobbler, fairly roused 
him, and he presses forward; at one time he runs with 
speed; then stops as if not yet quite satisfied; some- 
thing turns him back; still he lingers only for a mo- 
ment in his course, until coming to a running stream, 
where he will have to fly; the exertion seems too much 
for him. 
Stately parading in the full sunshine, he walks along 
the margin of the clear water, admiring his fine per- 
son as it is reflected in the sylvan mirror, and then, like 
some vain lover, tosses his head, as if to say, “let them 
come to me:”’ the listless gait is resumed, expressive 
that the chase is given up. 

